Tale Teller Club Music: Betrayal Protocol, Cold Divide Ch 1 Shadows on the Snow by Sarnia de la Mare

Betrayal Protocol, Cold Divide by Sarnia de la Mare Ch 1 Shadows on the Snow

The sky over Edelweiss Peak was a perfect canvas of pale blue, the kind that only came with high altitudes and bitter cold. The kind that made you forget how sharp the air was until you felt it slice through your lungs. It was the sort of morning that whispered luxury, pristine snow, glittering chalet rooftops, and muffled laughter from the ski slopes. But not everyone was here to ski. The après-ski drew pimps and high class working girls, gangsters hiding under a facade of decency and philanthropy, and men and women looking to better themselves through hobnobbing with the glitterati.

Deep in the heart of the resort, hidden from the casual elegance of its guests, a worker trudged through the early snow with a shovel slung over his shoulder. Emil, a local groundskeeper, was grumbling about the icy path when he saw it.

At first, he thought it was a pile of discarded clothing. Bright red fabric peeked out from the snowbank at the edge of the ice cave entrance, garish against the pristine white. He frowned. It wasn’t unusual for wealthy guests to leave strange things behinds, scarves, gloves, sometimes even entire ski suits. '

"Too rich to care about their stuff," he mumbled. But as Emil stepped closer and bent down to pick it up, his stomach clenched.

It wasn’t clothing. It was flesh. A hand, white and red, was reaching out from the snow.

***

Detective Alina Kostova hated flying. The turbulence rattled her nerves more than the sharpest interrogation ever had, and she wasn’t sure if it was the altitude or her job that left her feeling lightheaded. Beside her, Fabian Rousseau lounged with the kind of ease that grated on her, sipping from a miniature bottle of wine he’d charmed from the flight attendant.

“Cheer up, Kostova,” he said with a grin. “We’re going to the Alps. Think of the scenery. The fresh air. The murder.”

“Your optimism is nauseating,” Alina replied, gripping the armrest as the plane jolted.

“You’re not thrilled about a posh resort and a body in half? I thought gore was your thing.”

Alina turned to him, her green eyes sharp enough to cut glass. “No. Solving the case is my thing. If you’ve already decided to be insufferable, at least focus on the briefing.”

Fabian raised an eyebrow but slid his tablet across the tray table. Alina scanned the files, her lips pressed into a tight line.

The victim, Viktor Rodin, had been wanted by MI5 since before Alina’s time on the force. His defection from the Soviet Union was the stuff of spy legends, marked by betrayals, missing agents, and classified files that were never recovered. The fact that his body had shown up at one of Europe’s most exclusive resorts wasn’t just suspicious, it was alarming.

By the time Alina and Fabian arrived, the area around the ice cave was sealed off with Swiss precision. Mila Novak was already there, hunched over a portable screen connected to the resort’s security system. Her headphones hung around her neck, and her gloved hands moved deftly over the keyboard.

“Find anything?” Alina asked as she approached.

Mila barely glanced up. “Security cameras are useless. The angle on the ice cave doesn’t cover the crime scene, and the rest of the footage has… gaps.”

“Gaps?” Fabian repeated, leaning in.

“Someone tampered with the feed,” Mila said. “Whoever did this knew exactly how to cover their tracks.”

Alina sighed and turned toward the ice cave. The body—or what remained of it—was still in place, surrounded by investigators in heavy coats. Erwan Dubois stood at the edge of the scene, his breath visible in the frosty air as he spoke to one of the Swiss officers. His towering frame made him impossible to miss, even in the chaos.

“You should see this for yourself,” Erwan said as they approached. His voice was rough, his Belgian accent heavy. “It’s… artistic, if you can stomach it.”

The victim’s torso was propped against the snowbank, the legs arranged neatly beside it. The severing was clean, almost surgical, and a bright red scarf had been tied around the neck as if mocking the brutality of the act.

“Artistic isn’t the word I’d use,” Alina muttered.

“You know what I mean,” Erwan replied, his expression grim. “This isn’t just a murder. It’s a statement.”

Fabian crouched beside the torso, careful not to disturb the scene. “A Soviet spy, left in pieces at a ski resort? The symbolism is practically screaming at us.”

“What’s it saying?” Erwan asked.

“That someone’s got a flair for the dramatic,” Fabian replied.

As the team regrouped in the chalet set up as their base of operations, Mila pulled up the victim’s file on the main screen.

“Viktor Rodin,” she began, her voice steady. “Former Soviet agent, defected in 1984. MI5 had him on their watchlist for years, but he dropped off the radar in the early 2000s. No known family, no significant contacts… until now.”

“Why here? Why now?” Alina asked, pacing the room. “He’s been invisible for two decades. What changed?”

Mila frowned. “I don’t have an answer yet, but I found this in his personal effects.” She held up a small notebook, its pages filled with seemingly random numbers and symbols.

“It’s a cipher,” Fabian said, leaning closer. “Old-school, but effective. Can you crack it?”

“Eventually,” Mila replied. “But it’s not just the numbers. There’s a pattern, one that doesn’t make sense yet. But it looks like classic cold war comms to me.”

Erwan leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Oh, so we are going kinda retro, are we? But why would a stiff have an old notebook if he only just became a corpse?"

“According to the resort’s guest list,” Mila said, “Rodin was attending a private meeting. The details are vague, but several high-profile figures are here this week, including Ivan Petrov.”

“Petrov,” Fabian repeated, his tone darkening. “Russian oligarch, ties to organized crime. Of course he’s involved.”

Alina stopped pacing and turned to Mila. “Find out everything you can about that meeting. Who attended, what was discussed, and whether it’s connected to Rodin’s death.”

“And the body?” Erwan asked. “What’s the next step?”

“Leena will handle the autopsy when the body gets to Zurich,” Alina said. “In the meantime, we dig into Rodin’s past. Someone wanted to send a message, and we need to figure out who—and why.”

As the team dispersed to their tasks, Alina stayed behind, staring at the snowy mountains through the window. The air was sharp and cold, the kind that cut through layers and chilled you to the bone.

She had been here before, it was bad back then and it felt bad now.

This wasn’t just a murder. It was the beginning of something far darker and for a fleeting second her subconscious told her to get out and get out fast.

To be continued…

Betrayal Protocol, Cold Divide Chapter 2 Patterns in the Ice by Sarnia de la Maré